People of Cyre! Remnants of my dear homeland! I, Oargev, scion of the ir'Wynarn line, son of Mishann, Queen of Cyre, rightful ruler of Galifar, stand before you today, forced by the terrible events of the last weeks to grasp the mantle of leadership years, decades, before it should have been taken from my mother, your Queen.

Yet my pain is nothing compared to yours, remnants of Cyre. I have lost my mother, my wife, my family, in the cruel, inexplicable events of Olarune 20th, and I mourn for them, mourn for them with all my heart. But there are those among who have lost not only parents and spouses, but children. There are those among you who have lost not only family and friends, but entire towns, entire cities. And you mourn for them, we mourn for them, with all our hearts.

But Olarune 20th, this day, this terrible day, this Day of Mourning, did not rob us only of our families, our friends, our dwellings, our livelihoods. It robbed us of our nation. Of Cyre. And compared to this loss, all the other tragedies of this terrible, inexplicable day are as nothing. (No, not inexplicable, I swear to you, for something, someone caused this day, this Day of Mourning, and I, we, shall never rest until that force is brought to justice...)

For on Olarune 19th, in Cyre, people still died, mothers and fathers, wives and husbands, daughters and sons. But one fragile, wonderful, shining idea lived on; Cyre lived on, beloved, cherished Cyre. In Eston, in Kalazart, in wonderful, shining Metrol, Cyre lived on, gleaming brightly at the heart of Khorvaire. If the Dragon Above, mighty Siberys himself, were to wake and to look down upon the life-bearing corpse of his sister Eberron, he would not have been able, on Olarune 19th, to tear his gaze away from Cyre, wonderful, shining Cyre, beloved, cherished Cyre, Cyre, the Jewel of Galifar. Now, though--

Full disclosure: this paragraph (but not the rest of the speech) is taken from Five Nations, p. 77.

Weep, oh nations of Khorvaire, for the Jewel of Galifar is no more. You have finally completed what you started when you rejected the true and proper right of Mishann to ascend the throne of Galifar. With your jealousy and petty ambitions, you have brought this disaster on us all! Weep, my brothers and sisters, for our homes and our families have been eliminated in a foul and cowardly way. Do not let Cyre be forgotten! Do not let the Day of Mourning end! Not until we have discovered the villain. Not until we have made the villain face justice for this heinous crime. Not until Cyre’s children are once more safe and content within their homeland. Weep this day, my fellow Cyrans, and never forget. But tomorrow . . . tomorrow we begin to hunt down this villain, to demand justice, and to rebuild beloved, cherished Cyre. Tomorrow! Tomorrow we shall go home!

You were one of the members of the crowd that day, the beaten, bedraggled remnants of once-mighty Cyre. Afterwards, Prince Oargev himself sought you out, invited you to his tent. There, he admitted to you and a few others that he had not been entirely forthcoming in his speech. Not only was the Day of Mourning (as Oargev had called it) not inexplicable, Oargev believed he had found an explanation for it--not, yet, a means or a motive, but a perpetrator, one far too powerful to accuse directly. No, revenging Cyre would not be simple, nor easy, nor quick. But standing in his tent that day, Prince Oargev, along with you and a few others, took a solemn oath: that once a new Cyre rose out of the ashes of the old, you would kindle a pyre of revenge, and let the perpetrator take its place.

Premise

The game will be structured like a TV series: it will be divided into discrete episodes which combine together to make an overarching goal. After a prologue (the "pilot", tentatively titled "Memories Beyond") of solo threads starting on Olarune 19th, 994 YK establishing how the players arrived at the future site of New Cyre in time for Oargev's speech, first season will cover the period from then up until the signing of the Treaty of Thronehold in 996 YK--episodes will more-or-less alternate between treaty negotiation sessions and more action-based stuff, such as expeditions into the Mournland. Additional seasons will cover similar or longer spans of time--fulfilling the oath of revenge may very well take decades. For the most part, players will act as a team, rather than splitting up--so all PCs will need to be able to handle both social interactions and more physical work, if not actually heavy combat.

Mechanics

The game will be diceless, so there won't actually be any mechanics. However, note that it will be on the simulationist side of things: I will track things like dates, travel times, etc., and I will probably insist that the players keep detailed accounting of their possessions (the better to take them away ), though this is open to discussion.

On an OOC level, players will have a fair amount of metagame control: as noted above, the players will even choose who their primary antagonist will be. Especially during the prologue threads, I may go further: for example, I may say things like "your character walks onto the lighting rail car. Describe who else is present."

Finally, note that all IC posts should be in present tense, unless noted otherwise.

Resources

I welcome people new to Eberron, as long as they're willing to put some effort into learning the setting. Fortunately, this is very easy, at least for a diceless game; all of the published (3.5 era) lore is freely available, between the Dragonshards and the Grand History of Eberron. You need not have read these before you create the character, but I expect you to be willing to look things up when necessary.

Note that I will default to the 3.5 version of Eberron, as that's the version I know best: don't expect dragonborn or Feyspires. However, this shouldn't stop you from using this material in your application if you want to: I'll include the 4e elements in the game if they're important to any of the PCs.

Pacing

I don't want to exclude anyone from this game based on posting rate. With that said, you'll be able to participate most fully if you can post

i.e. this is your usual rate. You don't have to live up to it 52 weeks a year: I'm not going to kick you from the game if you go on vacation, have busy periods at work, etc.--but please notify me a week or so in advance if possible when this is happening.

regularly at least twice a week. It's probably best if you can post at a faster clip during the prologue thread, since you'll be the only one driving your character's story and I intend to end all of the threads at the same time. However, if this is an issue we can work something out--perhaps working out some of the narrative over Gchat, or leaving some of it aside to be worked out later.

I will endeavor to regularly post at least every 48 hours; my usual rate should be one round of posts per day.

Number of Players

Apparently when you leave this field blank in the new ad form, you get 1. This will not actually be a solo game: it's safe to say that there will be more than 3 players and less than 10, but I can't be more precise than that right now. (Note that asking whether this is, in fact, a solo game, is an excellent way to prove you haven't read the whole ad and make me much less likely to accept your application.)

Application Process

First, my now-standard description of what I want in a player and in a PC:

I want interesting characters; I also want interesting players. I want characters who have goals; I want players who have the motivation to create new goals once the first set have been met. I want characters who aren't centered around combat (perhaps characters who have never fought); I want players who are interested in things beyond killing and looting. I want characters who inhabit the world around them; I want players who want to explore and create every last detail of that world.

I don't expect your applications to be complete when first posted: instead, after you post an initial idea I will work with you to make the character more at home in Eberron, and to flesh out details of their past I can use to torment you with later. The best way to see what I'm looking for is to look at the ad for one of my previous games: since it was diceless, the best thing to look at is pink peril's application, posted here, and the sort of questions I asked and pp answered.

However, there are four necessary but not sufficient items I would like in your application by the deadline:

1. Where your character was on Olarune 19th, 994 YK (the day before the Day of Mourning).
2. A "day in the life," i.e. a more-or-less typical day for your character before the Mourning. I will probably use this to start your prologue thread, so you should probably make it at least somewhat interesting. See the descriptions by Crossroad, pink peril, Galedeep, and ShadowBright from my last advertisement for examples of the type of thing I'm looking for.
3. Why your character took the oath.
4. A possible explanation for the Mourning. This need not be what your character will believe after it occurs--in fact, it probably shouldn't be, since we'll play that out directly and since uncovering the nature of the Mourning will probably end up being a big plot point. This is more to make sure that you have a good enough grasp on Eberron that you can come up with something, and for my own selfish purposes.

Most of your application (points 3 and 4 above are an obvious exception) should pertain to your character before the Mourning. The Mourning itself should leave a big impression on your character (at least if they're actually in Cyre at the time), and it may alter your character's personality considerably. If that's the case, you should feel free to make some notes on what you think the effect of these changes will be, and we can work together in your prologue to justify them.

Applications may be private or public, I don't care, but note that the prologue posts will be public. I expect my players to be mature enough to separate IC from OOC knowledge--or, better yet, use their metagame knowledge to make the IC experience even more interesting. (I will give everyone private OOC threads, though.)

Go ahead and post applications in this thread, unless there's some rule against that now that I'm not aware of.

Please submit applications by 8 PM EST on the 22nd.

One last note: I will accept applications for Prince Oargev, but they will need to be exceptional, since having Oargev as a PC will significantly change the nature, or at least structure, of the game.

People of Cyre! Remnants of my dear homeland! I, Oargev, scion of the ir'Wynarn line, son of Mishann, Queen of Cyre, rightful ruler of Galifar, stand before you today, forced by the terrible events of the last weeks to grasp the mantle of leadership years, decades, before it should have been taken from my mother, your Queen.

Yet my pain is nothing compared to yours, remnants of Cyre. I have lost my mother, my wife, my family, in the cruel, inexplicable events of Olarune 20th, and I mourn for them, mourn for them with all my heart. But there are those among who have lost not only parents and spouses, but children. There are those among you who have lost not only family and friends, but entire towns, entire cities. And you mourn for them, we mourn for them, with all our hearts.

But Olarune 20th, this day, this terrible day, this Day of Mourning, did not rob us only of our families, our friends, our dwellings, our livelihoods. It robbed us of our nation. Of Cyre. And compared to this loss, all the other tragedies of this terrible, inexplicable day are as nothing. (No, not inexplicable, I swear to you, for something, someone caused this day, this Day of Mourning, and I, we, shall never rest until that force is brought to justice...)

For on Olarune 19th, in Cyre, people still died, mothers and fathers, wives and husbands, daughters and sons. But one fragile, wonderful, shining idea lived on; Cyre lived on, beloved, cherished Cyre. In Eston, in Kalazart, in wonderful, shining Metrol, Cyre lived on, gleaming brightly at the heart of Khorvaire. If the Dragon Above, mighty Siberys himself, were to wake and to look down upon the life-bearing corpse of his sister Eberron, he would not have been able, on Olarune 19th, to tear his gaze away from Cyre, wonderful, shining Cyre, beloved, cherished Cyre, Cyre, the Jewel of Galifar. Now, though--

Full disclosure: this paragraph (but not the rest of the speech) is taken from Five Nations, p. 77.

Weep, oh nations of Khorvaire, for the Jewel of Galifar is no more. You have finally completed what you started when you rejected the true and proper right of Mishann to ascend the throne of Galifar. With your jealousy and petty ambitions, you have brought this disaster on us all! Weep, my brothers and sisters, for our homes and our families have been eliminated in a foul and cowardly way. Do not let Cyre be forgotten! Do not let the Day of Mourning end! Not until we have discovered the villain. Not until we have made the villain face justice for this heinous crime. Not until Cyre’s children are once more safe and content within their homeland. Weep this day, my fellow Cyrans, and never forget. But tomorrow . . . tomorrow we begin to hunt down this villain, to demand justice, and to rebuild beloved, cherished Cyre. Tomorrow! Tomorrow we shall go home!

You were one of the members of the crowd that day, the beaten, bedraggled remnants of once-mighty Cyre. Afterwards, Prince Oargev himself sought you out, invited you to his tent. There, he admitted to you and a few others that he had not been entirely forthcoming in his speech. Not only was the Day of Mourning (as Oargev had called it) not inexplicable, Oargev believed he had found an explanation for it--not, yet, a means or a motive, but a perpetrator, one far too powerful to accuse directly. No, revenging Cyre would not be simple, nor easy, nor quick. But standing in his tent that day, Prince Oargev, along with you and a few others, took a solemn oath: that once a new Cyre rose out of the ashes of the old, you would kindle a pyre of revenge, and let the perpetrator take its place.

Premise

The game will be structured like a TV series: it will be divided into discrete episodes which combine together to make an overarching goal. After a prologue (the "pilot", tentatively titled "Memories Beyond") of solo threads starting on Olarune 19th, 994 YK establishing how the players arrived at the future site of New Cyre in time for Oargev's speech, first season will cover the period from then up until the signing of the Treaty of Thronehold in 996 YK--episodes will more-or-less alternate between treaty negotiation sessions and more action-based stuff, such as expeditions into the Mournland. Additional seasons will cover similar or longer spans of time--fulfilling the oath of revenge may very well take decades. For the most part, players will act as a team, rather than splitting up--so all PCs will need to be able to handle both social interactions and more physical work, if not actually heavy combat.

Question: are the Dragonmarks restricted to the House's race? I believe there is such a restriction in 3.5, but not in 4e; I was thinking of having a human character with the Mark of Healing, so I want to know if it is a valid concept before putting much work into it.

"Taelin, this is the sixth time this month I've caught you sneaking out of your bunk after light's out. Curfew isn't a suggestion, young lady, it is part of the rules that everyone, including you, need to follow."

Taelin sheepishly looked down at her feet in the dim glimmer of the candlelight that illuminated the abbot's quarters. Behind her back, she clenched her prize--a worn, tattered copy of Aryl ir'Bossus and the Princess of Thelanis, gripping the binding of the book harder and harder with every admonishment from Abbot Kaztilo. The abbot rose from his desk and walked over to his ward, reaching behind Taelin and taking the serial out of her hands. Looking over its cover, Kaztilo shook his head and handed the book back to the despondent little elf.

"And what have I told you about reading these...copper dreadfuls? Aureon did not create the gift of language to scribe the tawdry exploits of shirtless men and their fairy brides. If you spent half as much time focusing on your teachings as you do on these awful novels, you'd be running your own shrine now."

Looking around the room, trying to desperately avoid making contact with Kaztilo's gaze, Taelin glanced out the window into the starry night and gave out a quiet apology. "I'm sorry, Abbot Kaztilo."

The abbot remained quiet for a moment, wringing his hands briefly before placing one on Taelin's shoulder and rubbed his forehead with the other.

"Taelin, I know it seems like I'm being hard on you now, but honestly, I'm concerned about you. Word from the other sisters is that you don't spend any time playing with the other children, you're late for your chores, and you've been skipping your lessons to read these...books." Kaztilo stooped down on one knee and looked directly into Taelin's eyes. She could see every line on his face, every mark, every flaw it contained as the abbot continued on. "I know you don't want to be here, but just because we aren't you parents doesn't mean we don't care about you. Boldrei's love flows through us all and makes us a family, even if you and I and the sisters and the other children aren't related by blood, we are a family. Do you know that?"

The earnestness in the man's voice touched Taelin. Honestly, if the sisters and other children cared half as much about her as Kaztilo did, she'd probably be very happy. But the sisters spent so much time with the others, and the children were about as cruel as children could be towards her. Taelin's diminutive stature made her no friends in the orphanage's walls. She only wished that the only person who cared about her didn't hate the one thing in the world that brought her joy.

The corners of Taelin's mouth angled to make a small smile. "Yes, I know, Abbot Kaztilo."

Kaztilo rose to his feet and patted the girl on the shoulder. "That's a good girl. Now, off to bed with you. I think we could both use the rest."

The horses clopped and splashed their way through the creek as Taelin's patrol navigated their steeds through the forest. It was hard to tell through all the forest and wilderness where exactly Cyre ended and Karrnath began, and the enemy always could be just out of sight if one wasn't paying attention.

Taelin had always assumed that no other place on Eberron could match the splendor and sheer wonder of the lost continent of Xen'drik. It turned out that the Eldeen Reaches gave even that place a run for its money. What the Reaches lacked in diversity--after all, Xen'drik contained many different and fascinating ecosystems--it more than made up for in its beauty and tranquility. Everything about the forest had a wonderful stillness to it, even though every tree and every spot of underbrush teemed with life. Even the House Vadalis enclave had a patient, easy-going attitude about it, almost the exact opposite of what Taelin would exact the headquarters of a dragonmarked house to be.

Two magebred horses pulled the party's wagon along a worn dirt road, carefully twisted through a grove of trees as to not disturb the ancient oaks, instead winding around them. From her seat in the carriage, Taelin could see a picket up ahead, constructed of old wood and guarded by a few thugs brandishing spears. They nodded to the driver as the horses pulled their cargo past them and further on into the heart of House Vadalis' compound, and the heart of its power in Khorvaire. As the carriage driver dismounted from his seat and opened the door to the passengers, Taelin simply couldn't help but marvel at everything she laid her eyes on. Even here, in the depths of this ancient place, stood edifices of alabaster and marble, each intricately carved with numerous facades of animals and all manner of beasts. In many ways, it reminded her of the giant ruins back in faraway Xen'drik, stone buildings clashing with the surrounding jungle around them.

As the horses were freed of their yokes and led off to the stables, the driver showed Taelin to her quarters, instructing her to get some rest from the long journey, and that supper would be served in a few hours. The elf sat at the desk in her quarters, resting her eyes for a moment, only to open them and find it was time for the meal.

The banquet hall, where Taelin sat as the guest of honor, was like nothing she had ever seen before. If the outside of the compound's buildings were luxurious, then the interiors were simply decadent. Banners of fine silk lined the ways, embroidered with the crest of House Vadalis, as the food was served on fine bronzewood plates with mithral cutlery. Remembering in the back of her mind that Vadalis was considered to be one of the more modest of the houses, Taelin could only wonder on the kind of finery enjoyed by wealthier houses such as Cannith or Orien. She doubted to herself that they could produce any better foodstuffs, however (although maybe Ghallanda could make a better meal), as every course that came out of the kitchens seemed to build and build in their splendor and delicacy. The meal was the perfect balance of rich and delicate, full of complex flavors that melted together into a sublime whole.

As the meal was coming to a close, the man seated at the head of Taelin's table slowly roses, picking up a glass of champagne and a salad fork and gently tapped his glass, the high-pitched rings silencing the room and turning all the eyes of the room to him. As the crowd sat in reverential silence, Taelin too took in the man: weathered and worn, his bronzed skin and rough features providing a stark contrast to the fine overcoat and silk shirt he wore. As Baron Dalin d'Vadalis spoke, the deepness of his voice boomed throughout the banquet hall.

"I would like to make a few words in respect to our guest of honor here in Foalswood this evening. As some of you may know, several months ago, my son took it upon himself to abscond off to Xen'drik to bring back exotic beasts for our family to breed. While I appreciate Davi's industriousness, his mother and I feared him for dead. I was heartbroken: my only son lost forever, and I, and this family, left with no closure, no body. However, like a gift from the Host itself, this exceptional woman among us tonight protected my boy's life for weeks out there in the wilds, and then proceeded to all but hand-deliver my boy back to me."

The banquet hall roared with applause, and the old woman next to Taelin patted her on the shoulder a few times before teh baron continued on with his speech.

"Now, I don't think I have to tell anyone here that a Vadalis always repays what he owes, and we all as a family owe this woman--Taelin Phaloni--so, so much. That's why I'm going to pull in a few favors with House Sivis and get the word out to all the people of Khorvaire, and beyond. Within a fortnight, everyone from the Shadow Marches to the Lazhaar Archipelago will know the name Taelin Phaloni!"

The applause erupted again as Taelin's face turned a beet red. She wasn't just an explorer now--she was backed, more or less, by an entire Dragonmarked house. She wasn't sure if Dalin could make good on his boast, but even if he could only do half as good as he says, she'd still be just about as famous as a member of royalty. For a moment, the prospect of such fame, such a reputation, stunned Taelin as she sat in silence until the onld woman shook her gently on the shoulder.

"If Taelin would please come up here, we have one more gift to present her with."

She skipped a beat, just for a moment. Then the elf rose, flattening out the folds of her dress with her hands as she walked a few paces toward Dalin, who embraced her as she drew closer.

"Please, Baron d'Vadalis, you've already been so gracious to me. I can't accept anymore of your--"

"Nonsense, my dear. I won't hear another word of protest. Opir! Frey! Bring out the hound!"

Two men walked through the twin doors of the hall, a massive canine form leading them in as both men gripped tightly on the beast's leash. It was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the largest dog that Taelin had ever seen

COMING SOON

//

Taelin was sure every muscle in her body had been replaced with fire, her body burned so hotly as she lay on the floor of the soaking leather hut. The rains that came through the holes that hadn't been patch yet felt good what exposed skin she bore, as she could do little but stare up at the roof of the tent. That hunt had almost killed her--quite literally--and she was happy to be alone with her thoughts before one of her new drow kin enter the tent. He was young and handsome, his ebony skin offset by the typical white stock of hair on his head.

"(Sister you come now. The time to rest is over now we eat.)" Her Drow dialect was still a little shaky, it was just different enough from Elven to be a considerable bother. Luckily, she had been able to get across most of her ideas clearly, and vice versa, but some of their colloquialisms were still a bit out of her lingual reach.

"(That is the good. This one will join the family in short time. The body still has tired and rest. Gratitude.)" The drow--Kaes, they had told her was his name--sparked a brief look of confusion before nodding and exiting the tent. The sound of the rain began to soften in the jungle, accompanied by the slowing of the trickles of water that gave her a slight respite from the heat of the Dark Continent. Mustering all of the energy her nearly-broken body could, Taelin rose to her feet and haggardly lifted up the flap of her domicile, revealing the rest of her newly adopted 'family.' Karel was playing with a few of the drow children, the hound's sheer size almost dwarfing all of the young dark elves as they wrestled with him and tossed sticks out of the camp for him to fetch.

The women of the tribe worked cutting up assorted flora and some of the game that had been brought in from the last hunt--exotic fair the likes of which the average Khork would never taste in a million lifetimes. The many sat and maintained their weapons, many of which were the fabled drow long knife. Taelin had experienced the combination of finesse and force that the slender blade could bring to bear, and just about every male within the tribe was trained in its use. Kaes had taught her a few of its tricks, but the weapon was still too awkward in her hands to be lethal. The smells of the meal to come intoxicated Taelin and brought on a stinging hunger pang, her body screaming out for any kind of nourishment after the tribe's hunt.

One of the tribeswoman--Shadran--handed Taelin a wooden bowl with some kind of stew in it, which she began to devour before realizing that most of the tribe was staring at her wolfing down her meal. Her face turned beet red for a moment before the chieftain, Geytla, roared with laughter at Taelin's faux pas. The rest of the tribe joined in, putting Taelin at ease as she continued on with her meal. She was extremely relieved--not only because she hadn't offended a whole tribe of drow warriors, but in general at her whole situation. What began as a simple errand for the Crown--find the Pit of Nar'Kath, find out why Karrnath is interested in it, and either bring it back to Cyre or destroy it. Of course, only the drow knew far enough in the jungle to actually get to the locale, and refused to take her unless she proved her worth as a warrior of the tribe. Had she known that would involve chasing giants through the canopy (and keeping up with drow capable of navigating the underbrush better than most people can ascend a flight of stairs), she might have tried a different approach. Still, she made a good showing for a guttersnipe from Metrol, she thought, even if one of the giants almost tore her head off with its bare hands.

The lights of the camp were beginning to fade to cinders as supper waned and the tribe began preparing for a night's rest. Jotting some notes down in her journal, Getyla approached Taelin and took a seat next to her on the log she was seated on. He was young, having taken the tribe from his father after killing him in a duel, and was every bit as aggressive and passionate as Taelin assumed her own ancestors were thousands of years ago.

"(This hunt was a good. You do well for outsider. Tomorrow we go to the black place, that one must get her rest for the journey.)" His voice was quick but deep, giving it a strange resonance to it that Taelin found quite appealing. As she looked up at the night sky, the thought of tomorrow's expedition was in the back of her mind, weighing her with doubt. Even the drow, as fierce as they were, mostly refused to venture to Nar'Kath, which did not instill her with much confidence. But orders were orders.

"(This one thanks that one for its nice. Will rest now for next day.)" Giving a quick whistle, Taelin bowed to the chieftain and rose from her seat, Karel scampering over to her as she entered the tent that had been afforded to her during her stay. With any luck, tomorrow she would find the Pit and none of the people she had become close to remained safe during the journey. With any luck, agents of the Emerald Claw wouldn't already be there, but Taelin knew she had lost a lot of time getting the drow to trust her--maybe too long, but she silenced those thoughts and offered a quick prayer to the Host as she rested up for the next day's voyage...

"Let's all give a warm welcome to the Korranberg String Quartet, shall we? To begin tonight's entertainment, they're going to treat us with our own national anthem, The Song of Breland!"

The emcee gave an excited clap as the cultured and dolled-up gnomes on the raised platform behind him began tapping various bows and strings until, in perfect unison, they pulled a few dramatic, heroic chords across their strings as Breland's anthem began sounding through the ballroom. Just about all of the attendees--some of Khorvaire's most elite--stopped to listen, with the most patriotic (or patronizing) Brels joining in on the verses with a vigorous gusto. Taelin could hear above the crowd a rather portly nobleman, belting out the words in one of the most splendid baritone voices she had probably ever heard. It was quite a rousing tune, she thought to herself as she subtly tugged at one of the folds of her gown that had caught itself in one of the gown's layers. Her long, pink satin gloves gleamed in the light of the chandeliers, one hand holding glass of elven moonberry wine and the other clutching onto the small purse that Taelin had brought.

Taelin began slowly meandering through the ballroom; her contacts hadn't arrived just yet, so she had some time to enjoy some of the fine delicacies her hosts had provided their guests. Daintily picking up a small plate off of the deep scarlet tablecloth, she picked a few choice foods to indulge in as several admirers came up and asked Taelin about her latest venture into the Dark Continent. In between bites, she played off some of the stories that had been told about her--that she had learned magic under the tutelage of a giant (she just deciphered an old giant manuscript), that she had single handedly fought off two dozen sahaugin while her companions stole their idol (it was only five, but that was a tough fight regardless), and that she hunted giants and game alongside a clan of drow as a blood-sister (that one was actually true. And she never wanted to do that ever again). Answering their excited questions between bites of some kind of delightfully flaky pastry, Taelin bowed politely and excused herself, giving a courteous smile to her fans as she noticed a new entrant into the gathering in through a far-off door.

He was tall, broad, and his finely-tailored clothes strained to contain the mountain of muscle that they clothed. The orc confidently strode into the ballroom with a big toothy grin, drawing either confused not-glances from the more conservative of the attendees or polite waves from those who recognized him. Taking a glass of spirits from the nearest wandering server, he scanned the room carefully, conversing occasionally with a few of the other guests before meeting eyes with Taelin. She blushed and curtseyed, her carefully maintained hair only falling in her face a little on the way down. The orc, for his part, met with a bow of his own, and extended a hand with which he clasped Taelin's, planting a light kiss on her knuckle before letting her go.

"Ah, Lady Phaloni, wonderful to see you on such a fine evening. I trust the trip from Fairhaven was a pleasant one?" Every time the orc opened his mouth, Taelin couldn't help but be fixated on the pronounced canine teeth, nearly fangs, that the orc possessed. At the nape of his neck, faint azure lines poked out from the collar of his jacket, subtly shifting with the gleam of the chandeliers.

"Of course, Lord dThrakeran. I took one of the new airships--fantastic vehicles, really. Khorvaire may be ready for them, but I don't believe I am. The lightning rail is enough of a modern convenience for me, I should think."

"Now, don't tell me that the famed Thunder Guide Taelin Phaloni is afraid of heights? The same woman who dueled a Karnathi blademaster over the highest spires of Sharn is afraid of a little wind?" The orc gave a hearty laugh at this thought, clutching his sides and drawing more than a few eyes to the couple's conversation.

Taelin gave a coy smile to the orc, feigning just a bit of bashfulness to keep humility to those around her. "Don't be silly. The towers of Sharn don't move, Lord dThrakeran. At least, they aren't supposed to. Being that high up while throttling forward is not my idea of a good time, I'll admit. I'll leave the sky to House Lyrandar. I'll quite happy treading solid ground."

In the background, the string quartet began with a quick-tempoed jaunt, furiously sawing away at their respective instruments. The majority of the dancers cleared the floor, but the Cyran nationals--those who knew the frantic and hurried steps of the tago--flocked to the dance, whirling and twirling into dervishes of color and blur as the dance was set in motion. d'Thrakeran looked deep into Taelin's eyes and offered his arm, to which the elf locked hers with the orc's. As the two walked to the dance floor arm-in-arm, the orc leaned down and whispered in her ear.

"The bells ring tomorrow just after dawn. Berris and I will meet you at the rail station, but you need to get the Brelish troop movements." Taelin didn't skip a beat as she bowed to her partner, beginning the dance.

"Don't worry about this dance, Lord d'Thrakeran. You know I'm the perfect partner for it."

//

Taelin looked over the bow of the Krakenjack as the vessel rose and fell atop the green expanse that was the Thunder Sea. A crimson dawn peaked above the horizon--an ill omen for ships at sea, she thought to herself as the lights of Sharn began shining clearer and clearer as the ship carried on to its destination. The wind was calm; a warm, salty breeze that tossled Taelin's long blonde locks, but not enough to be any sort of bother. Between the gently rolling sea and the tranquility of the breeze, Taelin closed her eyes for just a few moments to focus herself, becoming at perfect peace with the world around her and mentally distancing herself from the sailors plying their trade to get the ship into port. The explorer had precious few moments like these, and it was the reason that Taelin hated sailing on elemental galleons. Impressive pieces of work they were, naturally, but for all the life bound to them, they simply lacked the soul of a mundane ship that was a slave to the wind and wave.

An especially hard wave crashed against the hull of the Krakenjack, splashing up and onto Taelin, pulling her back to the ship and those around her. The night stars were giving way to the azure sky of morning, and the Ring Above began glittering with light from the sun. Pulling a length of cord from the worn canvas satchel slung under her arm, Taelin deftly tied her hair into a loose ponytail and turned to face the deck of the ship. She would have never guess that a group of exiles from the Mror Holds could make halfway competent sailors, but Captain Lockerhelm and his crew had pleasantly surprised her, making up what they lacked in skill and grace with an abundance of vigor and an unbreakable communal trust. As Taelin made her way past the laboring dwarves around her to access her cabin, one of the holds swung open, the weathered and rotted wood almost smashing into her face. From it rose the ship's captain, Kiterian Lockerhelm, along with a few of the crew getting ready to switch shifts with those who had worked through the night.

"Ah, g'mornin', Mistress Phaloni. I was just comin' to find ye. Ye'll be happy to know that we'll be in port just ahead of this storm comin', just as I promised," the aging dwarf said proudly with a mouth full of missing teeth. He was stout--all dwarves were, Taelin supposed--but had an air of discipline about him and commanded tremendous respect from his crew. She had never asked why they left the Holds (from the songs they sang after a night of drinking, she could tell it was still a sore subject), but she had always pictured him as being someone important, even after his departure from his home. Whoever he was then, now, she was honored to consider him a friend.

"Wonderful news, Captain; I expected nothing less from you and your crew. But I must have told you at least a dozen times, you can call me 'Taelin'...'mistress' makes me sound so...sordid..."

The dwarf wore a hearty grin as he brushed passed Taelin, signaling to those working to head below decks."I meant nothin' by it, miss, I promise ye that. I wouldn't dream of offendin' one of my best customers. Now, breakfast is ready if ye would join the rest of the men down in the galley. I need to attend to...well, you know, captain things." Kiterian headed to the helm of the sterncastle, as the mention of food set off tiny pangs of hunger in Taelin's stomach. Carefully heading down the rigging that served as the stair to the decks below, she slipped into her cabin briefly, only to find her companion, Karel, still sleeping. Walking solely on the balls of her feet to lessen the noise, she creeped up on his sleeping figure before assaulting him by scratching at either side of his ribs.

"Time to get up, you lazy hound! You can't be sleeping all day now!" The hound sprung to life, giving a confused yelp before recognizing his owner, playfully wagging his tail as his tongue lolled out of his mouth. After a few happy barks, Karel rises to his feet, coming almost up to Taelin's hip. The wolfhound languidly stretches out, shifting back and forth on its front and hind, before facing Taelin with a joyful stare. The pair exit the room, Taelin careful to lock the door behind her as she does, and make their way to the ship's galley, where a wild menagerie of colors, smells, and sights in the form of crew had already sat down for the morning meal.

//

While it's true that Taelin's been away from her native Cyre for many years, it makes her no less of a Cyran patriot. Even in the depths of Xen'drik or captured in a Karrnath prison, she always knew that out there, the Purple Jewel of Galifar was waiting for her to return. Now, someone has taken that away from her, and the only link she has to her old home is Prince Oagrev and the settlement of New Cyre. If Cyre--or, at least its spirit--requires her service once more, Taelin is honored to oblige.

//

Taelin could be considered average for an elf in terms of build. Standing just over five feet tall and maintaining a slightly more fit form than other females of the race, her body is very angular with very little curve. Her face is especially sharp, with rather pronounced cheekbones sitting under her hazel eyes. Her mouth is smaller in accordance with her stature, but is often flushed which offsets her more pale complexion. Like her mouth, Taelin's face is often red, and her sharp nose has several pockmarks from her rosacea. Atop her head sits long locks of golden blonde hair, often tied back as to not get in her field of vision at work.

Taelin loves wearing dresses and gowns, and only wears pantaloons and tunics when she is doing fieldwork. Pink is her color of choice, and many of her outfits regardless of the situation bring the color in some way. No matter her surroundings, she almost always wears a pair of gloves to keep her hands clean and to supplement her grip after a blade slipped out of her hand during a heated battle with Karrnathi undead.

//

Media Darling: Taelin is a fairly known individual throughout Khorvaire, maintaining a very public persona of a fearless, swashbuckling explorer. More than a few of her exploits have been recounted (and substantially exaggerated) in crudely published copper-dreadfuls, and any time she returns to Khorvaire after an expedition, it's generally front page news in at least one of Khorvaire's daily publications (The Aundarian Scroll, the Sharn Inquisitive, the Korranberg Chronicle, etc). Taelin is an almost required invite for nobles looking to have the 'social event of the season.'

Survivor: Between a tour of duty with the Cyran Border Sentinels and her life as an explorer in the harrowing landscape of Xen'drik, Taelin can get along in the wild with little difficulty. Tracking, understanding animal behavior, building shelter, and foraging are all fairly simple tasks for her.

Swashbuckler: Taelin is by no means a one-woman army. However, with a saber in one hand and a drow long knife in the other, she can be a formidable foe. She relies more on finesse and grace when it comes to battle than brute force, and enemies with heavy weapons and armor are truly dangerous opponents to Taelin.

Karel: Taelin's constant companion is big, strong, and scary. About as tall as Taelin when standing on his hind legs, Karel is a massive magebred wolfhound, completely loyal to his master and willing to protect her at all costs. Bred as a war dog, Karel's hide and fur are thick to turn away lesser blows, and his bite can easily break bone.

//

I Can Do Anything: Taelin isn't particularly overconfident, nor does she rub her talents in the faces of others. Taelin simply does not know when to stop. No matter the challenge ahead, Taelin will quietly do her best to overcome it, even if such a task is entirely out of her league. She has overcome tough trials and survived, however the day will come where she'll run into an unclimbable wall.

No Airship? No Problem: Taelin, either because of arcane feedback or more mundane motion sickness, has a difficult time riding element-bound vessels. When riding on airships or elemental galleons, she becomes nauseous, queasy, and uncoordinated.

Phobias: While Taelin is portrayed as being completely fearless by the media, two things can get under her skin and chill her to the bone. Spiders send Taelin running, save for the smallest of specimens, and the sight of organs and mutilated bodies makes her either vomit, cry, or freeze-up.

The Keeper Keep Karrnath: After a few years on the border between Cyre and Karrnath, Taelin has grown to despise Cyre's northern neighbors, and its public knowledge that she refuses to work for the Karrnathi crown. This has made her few friends in the kingdom, and more than a few assassins of the Emerald Claw have tried to take her life.

So I had this one idea, started to read a bit, got more ideas, read a bit more, in short, this is what I ended up with:

I'm thinking an Umbragen Drow, finding his way to stormreach for one reason or another, reading up on those to figure out how that might work out. Hired by some Cyran agent as a mercenary, does various sabotage missions, finds a Cyran wife and has kids, family dies (presumably) on the day of mourning...the most fitting class mechanics would probably be swordsage with shadow hand maneuvers as the chassis, I think.

Should provide motivation and like a century to play around with when crafting background.

I have no problem in principle with a character who interacts with dreams--as you note, it fits well into Eberron, and there's a lot of fun Dal Quor-related overplot to play with. I also tend to enjoy writing dream sequences--see, e.g., this thread from a previous game of mine.

However, I have some reservations. The idea of the entire party spending time in the Realm of Dreams doesn't really appeal to me--at least for the first couple of seasons, I want the more mundane elements of the setting--the politics, logistics, etc.--to take precedence over the more fantastic ones.

So: here is what I propose. First, the character shouldn't have these abilities before the Day of Mourning--they should develop as a result of the events on that day (though of course there can/should be heavy foreshadowing in the character background), and at least at the beginning they should be almost entirely uncontrollable. Perhaps at first the character will think he/she is going mad, or that the dreamscape he/she inhabits is actually the transformed Cyre. Only after they escape the Mournland will he/she begin to realize the truth.

Second, dream exploration can be the character's shtick. I don't mind if each PC has certain roles--e.g. one could be an assassin, and they will naturally carry out assassinations by themselves. In the same way, your character can do the dream thing on his/her own. (You'll have to convince me on the manipulation thing--I'm leery of repeating Inception, and I plan on heavily emphasizing your point #3.)

Third, as you've already pointed out, the character will need to have a lot more depth/personality/details than just the dreaming thing. Just as an assassin character will spend most of the time not assassinating people, this character wil spend most of the time not dreaming.

How does that sound?

@Wizard of the Coat

As you've already realized, the Mourning is on Olarune 20th, twelve days before Oargev's speech. Forge of War is unfortunately not the best-edited supplement in existence--I'd suggest reading "mid-994" as "mid-Zarantyr, 994", which fits better with the text, anyway.

@Belul

Excellent! Your changes have taken what was already a very well-realized character and made them into one who is significantly more three-dimensional: I can already imagine a lot of potential plots/adventure for this Ali. I especially like Ali's prejudice, and they way you've subtly integrated it into the existing vignettes--given the events of the Mourning, I can tell I'm going to have a lot of fun with this.

One request: in the "Lies and Truth" section, I'd like you to be a little more precise in specifying geographic details, since they will be important in the game. I'd especially like you to specify in what nation Ali was born, and where Ali attended school in the guise of the dead boy. In addition, I'd like you to add a few sentences on to what extent the war (which, remember, has been going on for a century) affected the wanderings of Ali and her father. Once you make these additions, feel free to move on to question 3).

Re Samara surviving: your logic is reasonable. We'll have to see what happens in the course of play.

Oh, one last thing: in the last couple of paragraphs of the vignette Jenkins seems to be suffering some gender confusion.

@RavenQueen

I'm reluctant to extend the deadline, since I'd like to start the prologues and get to the main game in a reasonable timeframe. As long as the character concept and the connection to Eberron are there by Friday night, though, I'm okay with filling in the details after the deadline.

@Silverkiss

We'll be using the 3.5 canon on this: I will be restricting dragonmarks to the race (and the bloodlines) of the relevant house. You're welcome to submit a character with an aberrant mark with similar abilities, but you'll need to deal with the complications.

@Pumpkin31415

You've done a very good job of giving me a snapshot of Taelin as she is now. You write very confidently, and that plus the interesting supporting characters you've created make me confident that you won't have any trouble handling this sort of game. I'm impressed.

I think the next step is to go beyond the snapshot. Could you give me a sketch of Taelin's biography thus far? I'm interested, to start with, in where she grew up, what kind of upbringing she had, how she first became famous, and why she decided to go on expeditions/why she decided to work for Cyran intelligence (and in which order those decisions were taken). Once I have preliminary answers to these questions we can work on filling in more of the details.

P.S. Re your post above: yeah, I just noticed and fixed that in the processing of writing this. It's a good song.

@Havelock

I'd like you to think carefully about your choice of an Umbragen drow, as opposed to the other cultures (Vulkoor or Sulatar). As the Grand History of Eberron notes (p. 421), the Umbragen are closest to the standard drow found in e.g. the Forgotten Realms. There are certainly interesting aspects of their culture, but if you chose them because they essentially live in the Underdark and are envisioning something like Drizzt then you're going to have difficulty making the character feel like an Eberron native. I don't necessarily want to discourage drow characters, but the outline of the character you've sketched make it sound like after the Mourning the character won't really have any motivations/things they care strongly about, which makes it a lot harder to give them interesting character development.

Oh yes, I had forgotten about Aberrant Dragonmarks, they actually fit better with the character than a straight Dragonmark!

Another question, what are your thoughts on a born-werewolf character? And if you allow it, what would be the

I've read in one source that natural-born werewolves can control their changes, while in another source it says that they always change on a Full Moon, but it was unclear if it was referring only to infected werewolves or to natural-born as well

jalapeno_dude: Thanks for the response! I agree with your points, and I want to emphasize that the whole dreamwalking thing isn't intended to be my character's sole province, or even his primary one - it's just an idea I think is neat, but because it's kind of unorthodox, I wanted to run it by you first.

An interesting way for it to emerge might be for the character to experience a particularly vivid dream of arriving home to his family - only to watch the Day of Mourning unfold, helpless to stop it...

On the other hand, that might also be a bit cliche'd. Perhaps I shall come up with something else.

As for how a dreaming experience would work... well, as I noted, my influences are much more Lovecraft/Gaiman with a sprinkling of Moorcock than they are Christopher Nolan. Inception was a fine film, but not quite how I imagine the Dreaming. The way I envision it currently, the character wouldn't be so much able to directly control his dreams as he would be: A) Aware that he was dreaming and be able to react appropriately and B) Aware of how dream-logic and the metaphysics of Dal-Quor operate. Perhaps he has an understanding of the supernatural geography of the plane - how to find the stable dream-nodes where patterns in the collected superconciousness of the sentient races have impressed themselves, forming cities and vistas and fragments of lands long lost - and more that never were. Or perhaps he figures out how to crawl into someone's mindscape and pilfer precious memories.

But as you say, all of this should be an interesting sidenote rather than the meat of the character, if it's not what you want to focus on. I'll be getting a full app up shortly, and you can see if you like it.